


On The Banks of the Nile

by athersgeo



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/pseuds/athersgeo
Summary: Stranded in Cairo, Nahri thought the worst of their problems was Ali's trouble with Suleiman's Seal. Nahri had reckoned without the intervention of the British authorities, an Ifrit out for vengeance and a Jewish apothacary who knows far more than he's willing to admit...
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	On The Banks of the Nile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dolorosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolorosa/gifts).



> The characters don't belong to me - I'm just borrowing them for a short time, while we wait the last part of the trilogy.
> 
> Set in the aftermath of Kingdom of Copper.
> 
> All mistakes my own.

On The Banks of The Nile

At least she knew now why her healing wasn't working, Nahri reflected.

She had hoped that with a little time - a few days, perhaps - Ali would have adapted to the seal and would have begun to control its power in the same way he'd adapted to the Marid powers he'd been granted. Except she'd forgotten that he hadn't really adapted to those and and the Seal of Suleiman was a far, far more powerful mantle to have thrust upon him.

More to the point, it was a power that he'd never in his wildest nightmares expected to weild. As the second son, he was supposed to be the soldier. The Qaid to Muntadhir's King. He was never supposed to rule.

Nahri felt considerable guilt for having inflicted it upon him, but she also knew that she'd had no other option. She knew without question that Manizheh should never be granted the seal and as much as she didn't trust her mother she hadn't wanted to risk her being correct that she, Nahri, couldn't hold it. That had left her with one option in that moment.

"Why?"

The whispered question from a hoarse throat pulled Nahri from her thoughts. Ali was awake again; sweating and feverish, but lucid enough that he could spit her with his stare.

"We've been over this," said Nahri gently. "I had no choice."

"Your mother lies."

"At least you know I come by the skill honestly."

Ali snorted with laughter that turned into a hacking cough. The mark of the seal blazed bright. "You should have tried all the same. You..." He coughed again. "You're a Nahid. Born to rule."

"And if you were wrong, all I would have done was delayed Manizheh by a few minutes. At least this way she has no power."

"No power but her own cruelty." Ali's eyes drifted shut once more and a few moments later he was asleep.

Nahri had hoped that sleep would be healing, allowing Ali's body and mind a chance to recover from the shock of taking on the seal, but nearly two weeks on from their arrival things didn't seem to be getting any better and actively seemed to be worsening. There were moments when the power of the seal waned enough that she felt her own healing powers return but they always seemed to coincide with Ali's fever spiking and bouts of raving delerium. She could, and did, heal those but then the seal's power would come surging back and they were back to square one again.

And all the while, Ali was worrying about Daevabad. About Zaynab. About what Manizheh could be doing. Dara. Even Muntadhir's name had crossed Ali's lips a couple of times, which Nahri took to be a further sign that Ali was not well given the strained nature of the brothers' relationship. Those worries, justified as they were, clearly weren't helping matters but Nahri didn't know how best to ease them.

It wasn't as if she could just look in on everyone.

She was as divorced from Daevabad as Ali.

The only positive to the situation that Nahri had found was that she, at least, was in a land where she knew the rules and knew how to operate. But even that wasn't entirely true. The Cairo they'd arrived in wasn't the Cairo she'd left. There were new uniforms on the streets. New accents. The French and the Turks seemed largely gone and in their place were the British. Even the people she'd known had changed or gone. Though some things remained true: she still knew how to sneak about the town. How to earn coins from gullible marks and how to haggle for the day-old loaves from the bakers.

That knack had proved extremely useful as it meant she could find enough food to keep them from starving, but she wasn't able to do much more than that, partly because she didn't want to leave Ali alone for longer than she needed. On their second day in the old mosque, Ali had tried to tell her that she didn't need to protect him and he'd attempted to draw his zulfiqar to demonstrate his ability to defend himself...

...only for the effort of just pulling the blade from its scabbard to leave him doubled over and gasping - and with the zulfiqar still in its scabbard.

It seemed that with the Seal of Suleiman's power running wild, he couldn't even use his traditional weapon.

So Nahri ventured forth only rarely, never far and not for long.

Seeing that Ali was asleep again, Nahri slowly pushed to her feet and crossed to the shelf where she'd taken to keeping their meger supplies. Half a loaf of bread, spotted with mold; some jerky that had probably gone beyond the point of being edible; a water jar that was more dust than it was water. Not much at all. Still, the water jar, at least, was something she could correct without too much bother.

Picking it up, Nahri picked her way across the littered floor, passing Ali's sleeping form. She glanced down and took note that for the first time in a while he actually looked peaceful. Perhaps things were, finally, beginning to settle? Or was it merely calm before another storm of nightmare and struggle? Time would tell. 

She reached the door of the mosque and made to step out onto the riverbank, only to find herself face to face with a trio of men dressed in the harsh red of the British army unform, all armed and with their guns pointed squarely at her.

Nahri did the only thing appropriate under the circumstances: she froze.

"We've 'ad reports," said the one in the middle of the group, "of some strange goings on."

For a moment, Nahri debated feigning confusion and a lack of understanding. She looked, after all, just like any other native Cairo dweller and might reasonably expected not to know English, but from the expressions on these soldiers' faces, she suspected they knew more about her than she might wish. "Strange, officer?" 

Glances were exchanged between the men. They had known she'd understand them.

"Screams, and the like. Also," added the one on the left, "some thefts from the local market. Pickpocketing, mainly."

Nahri swallowed. Had she really lost her touch so badly as to have been detected?

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about such matters, now would you?" asked the third man, a glint in his eye that suggested whatever her answer, he already knew the truth of it.

Sometimes, the best defence was a good attack. "My friend is sick," she answered. "We've been resting here while he recovers but his fever is high and he dreams."

From the three expressions she was now faced with, none of the men had expected her to so freely admit that.

"Oh, your 'friend'?" The man in the centre of the trio looked highly sceptical. "Really? Sick with what?"

Nahri thought of the bread. "Ergotism. From bad grain. I am a midwife; he is my guard. We'd been attending a birth at a remote farmstead and were on our way home when he fell ill. I decided we were better to stay here where his delerium would disturb few people."

Almost as if cued, she caught the first sounds of another nightmare. Guns or not, she turned to go back inside. If she could spare Ali the worst of a nightmare, she would.

The soldier to her right grabbed her.

"Not so fast, we're not finished."

~*~

In dreams he hadn't been able to explain to Nahri, Ali always found himself back in the Harem garden. That day the Marid had shown him when it had rifled his mind. He watched on as young Zaynab showed the little boy he'd been her water magic. Watched on as their mother scolded Zaynab and dismissed him altogether. Watched on as the forgotten child he'd been discovered he too had that power.

Why did his mind keep returning to this day? This place?

Ali wasn't sure how long he'd been sick but he'd seen the images countless times, never gaining any further explanation. Just over and over watching as his younger self discovered a power he wasn't supposed to have. A power that he'd then forgotten, or buried beneath his military training.

His mind was clearly trying to tell him something, but for the life of him Ali couldn't work it out and something told him that his time for answers was drawing short. He knew that despite Nahri's best efforts he was growing weaker. She couldn't heal him in the Nahid way - the power of the seal was too great for that - but she'd tried other things. Herbs. Lore. Mortal healing tricks. They helped a little, but not enough.

"I'm dying."

Uttering the words in the privacy of his own mind didn't feel like the admission of guilt they would have done were he awake.

"Dying? Perhaps."

Ali's head whipped round. Standing just behind him was Muntadhir. A Muntadhir who hadn't been there on that day. A full-grown Muntadhir, no less. Ali could only stare at his older brother, open mouthed.

Muntadhir, for his part, rolled his eyes. "I'm not real. But you know that." He gestured vaguely at the gardens. "If you've got to get yourself trapped inside your own head, this seems a nice place for it."

"Thanks," said Ali faintly. "You were never here. Were you?"

Muntadhir shrugged. "The real Muntadhir wasn't. I'm not him."

"Who are you?"

"Just someone borrowing his face for a while."

Ali frowned. "Are you an Ifrit in disguise? Trying to trick me?"

Muntadhir snorted. "If I was, I wouldn't answer that question truly. And no, I'm not. It's a pity you weren't this suspicious when you fell into the lake. We wouldn't be here now."

Despite himself, Ali felt his cheeks warm with shame. "The Marid. But then I'd have been dead for--"

Muntadhir waved the comment away. "You would, and you wouldn't be in the position you're in now. Which would be both good and bad. Good for you because you wouldn't be struggling with the Seal of Suleiman. Bad for the rest of Daevabad because Nahri would have had no other option but to give the seal to Manizheh." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps coming into caution late in life was for the best after all."

Ali tried to untangle the meaning from Muntadhir's words and then shook his head. It was entirely too much for his fevered mind to cope with.

The scene between his younger self and Zaynab began to play out again.

"You don't get it," said Muntadhir, as young Zaynab and even younger Ali played. "You've seen this a thousand times or more and you still don't get it, do you?"

Ali's shoulders twitched in a shrug. "What don't I understand?"

Muntadhir waved his hand at the youngsters even as Zaynab formed the waterspout. "This."

"I understand that this was something that happened a long time ago. I understand it was something Zaynab wasn't supposed to do and that she was definitely not supposed to share with me. What more is there to it?"

Muntadhir actually chuckled. "If you want to look at it that way, I suppose there is nothing more to say."

Ali felt frustration start to creep in. "What do you mean?"

For a moment, Muntadhir chuckled, then he shook his head and sighed. "Since alegory isn't working, I'll spell it out for you: all your life you've fought who you are. You are rigid. Hidebound to the rules."

"A soldier must be disciplined."

"But you're not a soldier. Are you?"

Ali stared blankly at Muntadhir. 

"Since before you father exiled you. From the moment you attempted to help the Tanzeem. You stopped being simply a soldier. Here. This moment," and Muntadhir gestured to the young Ali making the water in the bowl move. "This was the moment where you learned to bend. To be flexible. It was but for a brief moment, then subsumed by your training and the role your father demanded you play, but it is still there. Find it. Find that knowledge and the seal will bend to your wishes. Don't, and well, you were not wrong with your assessment. The seal is killing you."

Ali shook his head. "I don't know...didn't remember this day until the Marid brought it back."

Muntadhir made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded reminiscent of a cat clearing a hairball. "Excuses! I expected more from you."

Ali rounded on him. "And just who are you to expect things of me? You're not my brother. You've said your not Ifrit. So who are you?"

"Is it not enough that I am here, trying to help?" 

Ali just glared, hands on hips.

Muntadhir sighed and passed a hand over his face, heralding a transformation. Dark hair turned grey then silver. His body slimmed, became stooped with age and unmistakably female. And Ali's mouth hinged open.

"Shouldn't you be supporting Manizheh?"

Anahid smiled faintly. "Manizheh might be of my lineage but she is not fit for Suleiman's purpose."

Ali nodded. Then froze as the implications of that statement hit him. "How can I possibly be? I'm not Nahid. I'm not..."

"Oh, give me strength." Anahid rolled her eyes. "If you were not worthy to hold it the seal would have killed you outright. It is a device not without its protections."

"So it would have killed Manizheh?"

Anahid's expression turned pensive. "It is possible it would have done, but her position as one of my line might have been enough to nullify the protections."

"And my father?"

"Ghassan was a good man, once."

That was a concept too much for Ali to contemplate, particularly as he felt a spasm of pain ripple through his abdomen. The power of the seal was surging again.

"Bend," urged Anahid. "You are more than a soldier. More than the Marid's vessel. More than Ghazan's second son. Break the walls that say this cannot be and bend!"

Wrapping his arms around his midsection as if it would ease the pain, Ali closed his eyes and tried to visualise the walls that Anahid said were keeping him here. He realised they weren't walls so much as chains that bound him tight. Chains of duty. Chains of family. Chains of training. Chains of faith. Chains of belief. Chains that needed to be unravelled, link by link.

Ali didn't know who he'd be by the time he'd finished, but he had the sense that this was the last opportunity to be anything beyond a corpse - and what that would mean for Daevabad he didn't want to consider. So he set to work, trying to unpick the network of links and hoping he'd be able to accomplish it before his strength finally gave out.

~*~

As the soldier tightened his grip on Nahri's arm, she heard Ali let out a howl of the purest agony and then, frighteningly, the power of the seal died away completely. She had no time to think about the implications of that as her own own healing powers came rushing back and in that moment she saw the sick tinge of something unnatural touching all three soldiers. She could see it best around the one who'd grasped her arm. Thick ropy strands of grey-green shadow, wrapped around their bodies.

Whoever they were, and despite their words, they were not here by choice.

Nahri found herself reacting instinctively. Trying to reach out and sever the strands. Unfortunately doing that for the man closest to her - the one holding her arm - caused him to collapse to the ground and attracted the attention and ire of the other two.

"What have you done to him, you witch?" one demanded.

"I..."

Before Nahri could concoct a suitable answer, a wave of water arched up from the nearby river shore and pounded down on the two men, knocking them aside like skittles. For a moment, it made no sense. Then Nahri sensed someone standing beside her.

Ali still didn't look exactly well. He was practically hanging from the doorjamb and his skin still had a greyish, ashy tone to it, but he was more or less upright and, more to the point, it seemed as if he'd finally gained some degree of mastery over the seal.

As if sensing her scrutiny, he shrugged a little. A tired gesture. "You seemed like you could use the help."

"Thank you." With the threat of being shot eliminated, Nahri took the chance to crouch down. The man who'd attempted to take her prisoner was unconscious but still breathing. The foul taint she'd sensed was gone.

Without stopping to explain, she crossed to the other two men, who were starting to stir themselves after the impromptu bath. For first one and then the other, she cut the strands, releasing them from whatever enchantment that had a hold on them. Both collapsed again, into unconsciousness, soggy but otherwise unharmed.

"What was that?" Ali asked.

"I don't know."

"But?"

"Dara was convinced Qandisha would find me easily, were I to ever come back to the mortal realm and these men were under an enchantment that wasn't nullified by proximity to the seal."

Ali pulled a grimace. "We need to move on from here." He paused. "Wherever here is."

Nahri smiled faintly. "Cairo. And you look as if you still need to rest."

"If an Ifrit's worked out you're here, we need to leave before it tries anything further."

The healer in Nahri balked at that assessment; her more pragmatic side, however, agreed. "But go where?"

"We need a boat. The best way to get back to Daevabad is to go to Ta Ntry. My family is there. They'll be able to help us."

Nahri thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "In that case, I know where we need to go first." It was the one place in Cairo she hadn't been back to, just in case it too had changed beyond all recognition. In case the one person who'd ever looked out for her here had left Cairo when the French did. "Follow me."

~*~

The going was slow. Far slower than Ali had hoped it would be, but at least they were away from the mosque and the unconscious soldiers. The taint from Qandisha would probably mean none of them would remember anything, but he felt better knowing that they were on one side of the river and he and Nahri were now on the other, weaving a course through cramped streets that made the seedier parts of Daevabad look palatial.

"Where is it we're going?" he asked.

"To get some supplies and to allow an old friend to tell me he told me so." Nahri paused at the mouth of the alley they were currently in, then nodded. "This way."

"You used to live here?" Ali asked, tailing on behind her.

"Well, not here, exactly," said Nahri. "I couldn't afford anything so nice."

Ali eyed her back view, trying to determine if she was joking or not. He settled for simply saying, "Oh," in a tone that he hoped would cover all eventualities.

Nahri turned another corner and then came to a halt outside a particular door. Ali took note of the presence of a mezuzah and raised his eyebrows, even as Nahri raised her fist to knock. He hadn't been expecting that. Nor was he expecting the man who opened the door pat on Nahri's first wrap. He was old and wizened with age and he had the unmistakable look of a shafit to him. Curious.

"Nahri, where have you-- What have you-- Come in, before you fall in!"

Belatedly, Ali realised that last remark was for him. 

For a moment, nothing was said. The man shuffled aside and ushered them into a room that was cramped and crammed with such a collection of things as Ali had never seen before. Glass jars, boxes, books and scrolls were haphazardly stuffed onto shelves and were spilling out over any convenient flat surface. Some of the jar contents he could recognise - ginger root was obvious - but much of it he could not. And the smell! The place reminded him strongly of the palace infirmary. All that was missing was the faint, ineffable tang of magic. Clearly, though the man was shafit, he was not a powerful one, if he held any power at all.

"Now," said the man, even as he guided Ali down onto the one available seat. "Nahri, perhaps you should explain why the King of the Djinn is in my shop?"

Ali had to chuckle at Nahri's startled expression. He was a little perturbed to know he'd been recognised - for one thing it suggested that the illusion he'd attempted to cast to obscure the seal's blaze had failed. He was also not altogether pleased by the designation - though at least the man hadn't sunk to the level of calling him a Sand Fly. Small mercies.

"I--you--what?"

The man rolled his eyes and began pottering about. "Nahri, I know a full-blooded Daeva when I see one. I told you, there was much more to life than you assumed."

"Yaqub?"

Ali watched with interest as Yaqub, if that was the man's real name, set about brewing some fragrant tea. "You never wondered why I didn't ask more about how you could heal people? About your skills with languages?"

Ali saw the moment when Nahri realised the truth. Her expression froze, twisted somewhere between disbelief and betrayal. "Did she set you here to watch me?"

"She?"

"My mother."

Ali saw a twitch between Yaqub's shoulders. Something more akin to a cringe than a shrug. "Ah. No."

"But you know who she is." Nahri's words were an angry statement.

Yaqub made no reply, instead he turned to Ali and pushed the now filled teacup into Ali's hands. "Drink, my Lord. It will help your recovery."

The honorific made Ali wince. "My name is--"

"Alizayd al Qahtani. Yes, I know. Strange," added Yaqub meditatively. "I thought you were the second son."

"This wasn't my idea," said Ali, casting a look in Nahri's direction.

"Considering my alternatives at the time," said Nahri through clenched teeth. "I had no other choice."

Ali got the sense that her ire was not aimed so much at him as at Yaqub who, for his part, was sighing.

"To answer your question, Nahri, yes I knew your mother. No, she most certainly did not set me to watch over you. Manizheh thinks I'm dead and I'd just as soon as keep it that way."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew her?"

"Since Alizayd al Qahtani was the best option at the time of your coming into possession of the Seal of Suleiman, Ghassan al Qahtani must be dead and I'm assuming Manizheh is the cause. Since you've met her now, you can answer your own question."

Ali watched as Nahri's anger deflated somewhat. "But you knew who I was."

"And while you didn't know, you couldn't get yourself into trouble."

Ali snorted into his tea mug. He could feel Nahri now glaring in his direction so he said nothing and sipped the concoction he'd been handed instead. It was quite pleasant. Ginger and some kind of citrus. He immediately felt a little more energy come into his limbs.

"So why is it you're back in Cairo? I'd have thought, having found your place, you wouldn't have wished to leave Daevabad."

"We didn't," said Ali.

"Not intentionally," Nahri amended.

Ali sat back, allowing Nahri to tell the tale of just how they'd ended up in Egypt. In turn, Yaqub filled in the mortal history Nahri had missed.

"Are the British any better than the French?" she asked.

Yaqub shrugged. "Better? Hard to say. Different, of course, and there are far more of them. Some of them, doubtless, would actually fall for your con, were you to try. Very willing to be credulous."

"Gullible, you mean."

"Perhaps."

Ali cleared his throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to him. "We can't stay."

Nahri grimaced, then nodded. "No. There are people back in Daevabad who need our help."

"And Manizheh needs to be dealt with, no doubt," said Yaqub with a nod. "What do you need?"

"Supplies and a boat," said Ali.

"The boat is easily enough handled. There are plenty of small craft just pushed up on the river bank," said Yaqub. "I assume you know how to handle one?"

Ali thought about the Marid's skills. If all else failed, he could use them to get the boat to travel upstream. "It won't be a problem."

"Then let me pack you a sachel," said Yaqub. "I can't give you much, but I can give you some food and some dirams to buy more. And more of that tea, too." He gave Ali a long, assessing look. "You look as if you need it." He paused. "Particularly if you're going to be able to use that zulfiqar of yours."

"It won't work on the Ifrit," Nahri pointed out.

"But it will discourage other things," said Yaqub. "And you should know by now there is much more out there than you're aware of."

Nahri had the grace to look abashed.

Ali was at once sand not to be able to spend more time with this irascible man who so clearly had the measure of Nahri. Seeing she was not about to answer, he said, "Thank you, Grandfather. I cannot--"

Yaqub waved off his words. "Heal. Sae those you need to. Help those you can. Be a kind and just king, My lord. For all your people. That's all I ask."

"I..." For the first time, the realities of Ali's new position hit him and he felt faint at the prospect. King. It wasn't supposed to be his role in life, but then there was a lot about his life that wasn't supposed to be. He swallowed. "I will do my best."

Yaqub harumphed and nodded once, apparently satisfied by that answer. "Then let me help speed you on your way." And with that he bustled off for the promised sachel.

~*~

By the paltry light of a new moon, Nahri picked her way down the riverbank towards the boat Ali had picked out. She glanced back. Although he'd travelled with them as far as the riverbank, Yaqub had turned for home as soon as they'd reached it. He hadn't uttered so much as a goodbye, leaving her with many questions and the sense that she would probably never hear their answers. Ahead, Ali was already in the boat, working to prepare for their departure. It seemed that he did know something about boats, if the seemingly expert way he was hoisting the mast was anything to go by.

"Come on," he hissed.

Nahri sighed and hoisted herself up, into the boat.

No sooner had she done so than Ali vaulted out and began shoving the small craft out into the sluggish waters. As they bobbed out into the main river channel and Ali hauled himself, dripping and steaming at the same time, over the side of the boat, Nahri took one last look at Cairo. Her one time home. This time she knew she wouldn't be back. She felt a pang of longing to stay. More time here would have been beneficial: while Ali was pretending he felt fine again, she knew it was a sham. But with an Ifrit looking for her and with their responsibilities in Daevabad many miles away, Nahri knew remaining, even for a little while longer, wasn't an option.

Instead, she turned her head to look up-river. Towards whatever was going to happen next.


End file.
